CHAPTER 4. POIROT INVESTIGATES

The house which the Belgians occupied in the village was quite
close to the park gates. One could save time by taking a narrow
path through the long grass, which cut off the detours of the
winding drive. So I, accordingly, went that way. I had nearly
reached the lodge, when my attention was arrested by the running
figure of a man approaching me. It was Mr. Inglethorp. Where
had he been? How did he intend to explain his absence?

He accosted me eagerly.

"My God! This is terrible! My poor wife! I have only just heard."

"Where have you been?" I asked.

"Denby kept me late last night. It was one o'clock before we'd
finished. Then I found that I'd forgotten the latch-key after
all. I didn't want to arouse the household, so Denby gave me a
bed."

"How did you hear the news?" I asked.

"Wilkins knocked Denby up to tell him. My poor Emily! She was so
self-sacrificing--such a noble character. She over-taxed her
strength."

A wave of revulsion swept over me. What a consummate hypocrite
the man was!

"I must hurry on," I said, thankful that he did not ask me
whither I was bound.

In a few minutes I was knocking at the door of Leastways Cottage.

Getting no answer, I repeated my summons impatiently. A window
above me was cautiously opened, and Poirot himself looked out.

He gave an exclamation of surprise at seeing me. In a few brief
words, I explained the tragedy that had occurred, and that I
wanted his help.

"Wait, my friend, I will let you in, and you shall recount to me
the affair whilst I dress."